


Changes

by rexisnotyourwriter



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Reunions, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:25:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6950590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexisnotyourwriter/pseuds/rexisnotyourwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the S3 set photos from www.david-tennant.org</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He would never have noticed if it weren’t for the sound they made - the clip-clop sound of her feet on the sidewalk as they walked up to Budmouth Taxis.  

Miller was wearing heels.  

He looked down to confirm.  They weren’t high or ridiculous - perfectly suitable for work, he supposed - but they were in fact heels, with a buckle across the top of her foot.  It wasn’t the only new thing about her, though.  At first he thought her hair was shorter than usual until he realized it was pulled back.  She’d grown it out.  The buttons on the blouse she wore didn’t start until well down her chest, the open V revealing the freckle marks the summer had bestowed upon her.  

He tried not to stare.  A lot of things had changed since he’d been gone.  It made him wonder what else he had missed.  

Her pace had quickened.  He took long strides to catch up.  The wind wafted her scent to him; another thing that had changed slightly.  He had noticed it in the car on the way over.  She still had the same notes she used to - warm milk, stale crackers, baby powder, and grapefruit hand soap - but this time there was a blanket of perfume over it, something sweet, yet mature, flowery, but not overpowering.  Like lavender and honey.  

Things had changed.

“I knew we should’ve parked closer,” she muttered.  “Last time I listen to you.”

But she was still Miller.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's some more of this, because reasons.

She drove faster on the way back to the station, her eyes darting to the clock every few seconds.  

“Where’s the fire?”

“What?”

He nodded to the speedometer.

She rolled her eyes and eased up on the gas pedal ever so slightly.  

Five minutes later she had resumed speed.  He decided not to comment this time.  When he got out of the car at the station he noticed the imprint his grip on the seat had left in the fabric.  

He checked his watch; it was quarter to six already.  

Ellie rushed out of the car and slammed the door.  The strap of her bag snagged on the side mirror causing her to jolt.  The entire contents spilled out across the car park.

She growled curses through clenched teeth.  

Hardy let out a long exhale, debating whether or not to help her collect her things or if that would be some sort of invasion of her privacy (women’s purses were mysterious things).  He knelt down to test her response.  She didn’t yell at him, so he began gathering the scattered items - a tin of mints, pack of tissues, an assortment of pens (most without caps), a cracked compact, lipstick.  He held them in his hands, examining them.  

“I’ve got it,” she muttered, snatching the items from his hands.  

“Right.”

Hardy stood up, his now empty hands finding their way into his trouser pockets.  

“I’ve got a date tonight.”

Her voice was soft and the words slurred together; he couldn’t be completely certain she had said what he thought she said.

“What?”

She glared up at him, more mad at what she’d let slip than at his comment.

“I have a date tonight.”

This time she enunciated her words clearly and slowly.

He chewed the inside of his lip and nodded his head, avoiding eye contact.  The thought had never really occurred to him.  Miller dating.  

She shoved the rest of her things back into her bag and stood up.  She’d expected more of a response from him and was mildly annoyed at his silence.  They walked back into the station; he followed her into her office.

“Is that why you’re wearing those?”

“What?”

He looked down at her feet.

“I can’t wear heels to work?”

She had worn them, thinking of tonight.  She didn’t have time to go home and get ready in between.  

“Never have before.”

“Funny, I never pegged you for a shoe guy.”

Hardy crossed his arms, breathing loudly out his nose.

The blouse, the shoes, the perfume - it had all been for tonight, for someone else.  

“We still have a lot of work to get done.”

She let out a snort.

“Like what?”

The papers on her desk had been sorted into more organized piles while Hardy had been brooding.  Now she was gathering her belongings.

“We’ve got to write up our interview.  Research our new suspect, verify his alibi.”

“It can wait ‘til tomorrow.”

“Miller-”

“You do it then!”

He rolled his eyes.

“Not like you have plans tonight,” she added.

She hadn’t meant it as a biting remark, but the truth of it stung him.  

“What about Tom, and Fred?”

Her eyebrow turned up.

“They’re at the Latimer’s.  Geez, if it’s really that big of a deal, why don’t you ask one of the other DS’ for help?  It’s not like you need  _ me _ .”

A lump formed in his throat.  He stared at his shoes to avoid her seeing the truth in his eyes.

“Right.  I’m sure Bob doesn’t have any plans tonight either.”

He looked back up and made a poor attempt at a sincere smile.  She had let her hair down.  It fell in perfect locks down the side of her face, resting just on her shoulders.  It bounced softly as she walked to the door.  

“There you go.  See you tomorrow.”

Then he did something he always hated.

He watched her go.


End file.
